


Fight!

by Anathematize



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mothers mothering, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathematize/pseuds/Anathematize
Summary: There is a knife in your hand. Or was it a stick?





	Fight!

She gives you a second chance. And another. And another. Your hands tremble as you select the fight button, but something warm flares up in your chest every time you swing the stick and you don’t want to hurt her, she only needs to STOP FIGHTING and…. Oh. Oh.

You no longer feel warmth radiating around you. The light from her fireballs have died down. You see double, and you look down at your stick in a vision that is half-blood, half dust, and look back up to her again. “Mom,” you say, quivering. She stands in your way, tall and unyielding. You lunge at her.

Your swings have become erratic now, half crazed and desperate. Your hand is curled so tightly around the stick that your fingers hurt, and you swipe away angry tears, hand jabbing at the fight option. You need to do this. You must. Determination threads through your veins and creeps up your throat, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Your blows are slower now. She matches your pace, hands glowing with orange flame. Her gaze looks straight through you.

“Mom…” you plead. She stops, and her stoic expression crumbles into concern. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t I can’t I can’t, please don’t make me hurt you.” You shake your head, and throw down the stick with a solid thump. “I won’t do this anymore.” Your fingers itch.

“My child…” The flames gutter out, leaving the smell of smoke in the air. She sweeps you up in her arms. Her fur is warm. “You must learn to protect yourself. I cannot protect you forever.” Her grip tightens. “What if you get injured? The surface- no matter how wondrous - is still fraught with danger. You have to be prepared for this situation.” She hesitates, looking into your eyes, and sighs. “Perhaps another day.”

Toriel carries you into her house through the back door. The air smells of freshly cut grass and flowers, and the sun light steams through the leaves by the window, dying your skin a light green. She sets you on the sofa. You grab a pillow and hug it to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut. Toriel returns soon after, a book under her arm. She opens it, flipping to a page at random.

“Do you want to hear an exciting snail fact?” You nod your head, even if your heart isn’t in it. Her voice is soothing, and relax into her arms. ”Did you know, snails can live up to twenty five years?” She continues reading, but you are not listening anymore. You are safe. That is all what matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and review welcome!


End file.
